“It’s there,” Hone agreed, then he laughed. “Your taniwha is giving me the finger.”
Manu snorted. “That’s directed at me rather than you. Damn sword is like a homing pigeon. I can’t get rid of it so I continue to have these responsibilities for my ungrateful tribe. They’re worse than a bunch of kindergarten kids.”
Hone reached for the bacon and egg pie and cut three generous hunks. “Maybe you’re having problems because you’re reacting instead of acting. Set boundaries. Make rules. Clean house.”
Jack dipped his head in agreement, his mouth full of pie. He swallowed. “Hone is right. Call a meeting and tell the tribe of your expectations. Enforce them.”
Manu stared at his pie. “There is another problem. Everyone with single daughters is tossing them at me. They might not accept me as their leader, but as long as the sword remains with me, they view me as fair game. I don’t want marriage.”
Hone chuckled while Jack tsk-tsked at his whiny complaint of too many women.
“Not much has changed there,” Jack said. “Before it was your mother tossing women at you.”
Manu grimaced even as he steeled himself for the sharp pang of regret. He’d killed his own mother without hesitation. That made him a monster.
A bird arrowed overhead and settled in one of the three big totara trees still standing on the land surrounding his warehouse. It flapped its wings before calling in its distinctive hoot. Morepork. Morepork. It was a ruru, a native New Zealand owl.
Manu snorted because he could practically hear Jack’s and Hone’s thoughts. “A messenger from the underworld. I remember my grandmother telling us about the ruru. Their arrival outside a home meant there would be a death in the family. Her ancestors used to catch the bird and eat it, hoping to prolong their own lives.”
Jack shook his head. “Some people believe they are guardians from the underworld, sent to help and advise. They can be a warning but also hold the power to protect.”
“I vote for Jack’s version of the story,” Hone said. “My grandfather told me both versions when I used to visit with my parents. He still lives near a large native forest and would take me on evening walks to become one with nature. Besides, you only need to worry if the bird makes its quee call—the high-pitch screech. This one has called morepork. According to Granddad, that is an excellent sign. It says good news is on the way.”
“I can do with all the protection and advantageous news I can get. Dad and his cronies are after my head.” Pain arrowed through him at the mess he’d made of his familial relationships. At least Tane and Kahurangi supported him since they’d been there at the end. As had Jack and Hone. Haurahi, his youngest brother, wasn’t speaking to him while his father blasted him with threats.
“Have the Waaka family approached you or attempted to take over the Auckland region?” Hone asked.
“Not yet, but my gut says it’s coming. Nelson Waaka would love to rule over the Northland and the Auckland taniwha. He craves power. They’re playing a game, waiting for us to tear ourselves apart and inflict enough internal damage to make their leadership coup certain of success,” Manu said. “Tradition says the sacred sword goes to the strongest. At least that has happened in the past.”
“Our point. You are an excellent leader and you’re capable of guiding our tribe to great things.” Hone handed out more beers. “But right now you’re not leading. Grab your paddlers and make them row in time instead of letting the canoe bob around the sea like a floating stick.”
“Fine in theory,” Manu said. “But how do you expect me to manage that? They’re a stubborn lot, and Dad isn’t helping matters.”
“Will he listen to Tane or Kahurangi?” Jack asked. “They understand the situation and how your mother lost her marbles. Emma still has scars.”
The owl hooted twice before gliding away on silent wings. Manu watched it fly until it melded with the evening sky, and he shuddered at how close Emma had come to death at his mother’s hands.
“You’re right.” Manu shoved at his hair to clear his vision. “I disagreed with a lot of Mum’s methods but she kept everyone in line.”
“It occurs to me you could use your stealth gadget to learn what is happening within the tribe. Get a handle on the weak spots. The hotheads. Your supporters,” Hone said.
“That’s intrusive,” Manu objected, although his inventor mind rushed ahead, considering the opportunity to further test his stealth gadget.
“Think of it this way. What would your mother have done if she had the same opportunity to use your stealth invention?” Jack asked, cutting straight to the core.
“She wouldn’t have hesitated,” Manu said. “I’d hoped to do things differently.”
Hone carved the last of the bacon and egg pie into three. “You can, but first, you have to exert control. Get to a place where you can talk to everyone and they’ll listen, even if they have issues with your possession of the sword. We were too young to notice what went down when your mother took over from her uncle, but Dad said she had difficulties getting the tribe behind her because she was a woman. She didn’t stand for any crap from anyone. As her son, you know that.”
“You could always hire George Taniwha and Sons to do the snooping for you,” Jack said. “Does your invention make a taniwha invisible in human form?”
“Yes.” A downside because this made his invention valuable to those who skirted or broke the law.
“Can our people sense our presence even though we’re invisible?” Hone asked. “Have you tested that aspect of your invention?”
“Not yet. Getting the invisibility part right was more important,” Manu said.
“We’ll test it for you,” Hone said.
“It might work,” Manu agreed, the designer in him wanting his invention perfect in all aspects. “All right. Talk to Uncle George and make sure he approves of this scheme. Tane and Kahurangi will help.” He hesitated before straightening his shoulders. Decisiveness—that’s what he required. “I’ll take a turn or two. As much as I dislike spying on my people, I have to do something. I hate the idea of the Waaka family sitting back and waiting to collect the spoils. Even if I can’t reach Dad and his friends and make them understand, I might make a difference with the younger taniwha.”
“Our work here is done,” Hone said, not hiding his satisfaction.
He and Jack exchanged a high-five.
Manu frowned. “You came here to maneuver me into a decision. What if I’d said no or tossed you out on your butts?”
“You could try,” Hone said with a wink at Jack. “Several problems with that. Our wives would protest if you messed up our pretty faces. Right now, everything sets off Emma and turns her into a Mama Bear. Secondly, you might best one of us, but two—not a hope. And thirdly, any reaction is better than this sullen ice-man front you’ve been showing us for the last six months.”
“Tane said you’re hanging out either at Hone’s house in Red Hill or here and not seeing anyone if you can help it. What are you doing for sex?” Jack asked.
Manu understood what Jack meant. The moon controlled a taniwha, and if they didn’t shift on a regular basis, only lots of sex enabled adults to hold their human forms. “Your spies have missed vital information,” he said drily. “I’m flying most days since my stealth invention works well, and when I get sick of my own company, I put on a disguise and go into the central city. The pubs and restaurants at The Viaduct are ideal to find uncomplicated feminine company.”
Jack gaped at him then grinned, and Manu returned the sentiment. There had been a time when Jack’s expression never shifted from tough-guy surly. Emma had changed that, and it was an improvement.
“Full moon is an excellent time because most taniwha stay away from the city in case they lose control. I’ve found my restraint is better than ever if I can find a woman who attracts me. Women like my scowl and tattoos. When they see the bike that seals the deal. We go to a hotel, have mutual fun and pleasure then I leave while they get a p
aid night in swanky accommodation. Best of all, I’m not sleeping with a woman from the tribe who expects more. Win-win.”
Hone shook his head. “I can’t decide if I admire your strategy or feel sorry for you.”
Manu shrugged. “I’m not doing anything different from every other single taniwha male. You both did the same in the past.”
“You’ll understand if you find a true mate,” Jack answered for Hone. “Everything is different—better—when you have a woman who accepts you flaws and all, lying in bed beside you.”
A phone buzzed, and Jack jumped. Manu bit back a laugh on seeing his friend’s panic and the tremor in his hand.
“It’s time,” Cassie said, her voice easily audible with their acute hearing. “We’re on our way to the hospital.”
“I’ll drive,” Hone said, holding out his hand for Jack’s vehicle keys. “Manu, we’ll be back tomorrow for the stealth units. I’ll talk to Dad tonight, but I’m certain he won’t have any issues with this plan. He’s worried and wants to help but hates to overstep. Cuz, we have your back.”
“Hone, are you coming?” Jack snapped. “Emma is in labor!”
“We’ll ring when there is news,” Hone said, his amusement clear as he increased his strides to a jog. “We’re gonna be uncles.”
“No, you’re not,” Jack barked, sounding remarkably like the Jack before Emma.
“Honorable uncles,” Hone said, their voices floating to Manu even though they’d disappeared around the front. “Uncle Hone and Uncle Manu. We’re gonna teach your son or daughter to misbehave.”
“Stop talking. Drive!”
Manu rolled his shoulders and stretched his hands above his head. The food and company had helped, his cousin’s straight-talking making him think. Hone and Jack were right. His current style of leadership was a joke, and it was time to make changes.
A faint flutter of wings drew his attention to the totara trees. The ruru had returned. It settled briefly before taking off, doing a slow swoop over his head, and flying toward the inner city. When Manu didn’t move, the owl repeated the same flight path. It was almost as if the ruru was tempting Manu to fly with him.
Not a bad idea. Manu strode to his safe and scanned his left hand to open the lock. With the stealth gadget strapped around his wrist, he disrobed before walking outside. The ruru sat in the tree.
Manu tapped a button on his gadget and shifted, letting his taniwha free. A blast of joy and happiness filled him, most of the emotion coming from his taniwha. He took off, flapping his wings and propelling his body into the air.
To his surprise, the ruru lifted off his branch and glided close to Manu. The way the bird turned its head told Manu it sensed his presence, despite his invisibility. The owl flew ahead of him, the bird’s flight path taking him toward the business center of Auckland city. They soared past Cornwall Park and the dormant volcano cones of One Tree Hill and did a swoop over Mount Eden. The ruru appeared to prefer the areas where trees grew and zigzagged his way across the bright lights until he skirted The Viaduct and the port of Auckland.
Unconcerned with his destination, Manu kept pace with the darting ruru as the owl glided toward the Domain and the floodlit War Memorial Museum that crouched on top of the hill. Once they reached the Domain, the owl flapped in a lazy circle. It was almost as if the bird wanted him to see something.
With a mental shrug, Manu paid closer attention. He spotted several homeless people, sleeping rough during the warmer summer weather. Two vehicles sat in the parking spaces nearest the museum. Their occupants lazed on blankets and ate a picnic dinner. His nostrils flared. Fried chicken and burgers. The men and women drank wine from paper cups, their laughter and happy chatter bringing a smile. A normal outing with clandestine drinking since the city powers prohibited alcohol in public areas. Close on the heels of his happy-for-you smile came envy.
This was something he could never have, especially not now.
If he exerted his leadership, the next step would be pressure to take a partner.
The ruru called—a shriek close to a quee but not quite.
Manu scanned the clump of trees below and caught the flicker of flames. As they flew on, he spotted several bare patches and sniffed the soot and ashes of a recent fire. The ruru did another slow circle over the area before winging in the direction of his warehouse.
At a loss to decipher what the bird wanted him to see, Manu gave a mental shrug and followed. The owl had taken a risk flying over the city and exposing itself to gulls. The least he could do was protect the ruru during the return flight.
3 – The Trespasser
It was happening again! Jessalyn issued a pained cry, her gaze on the flames darting along the branch of a manuka tree. The fire spat and multiplied, feeding with ravenous hunger on the summer-dry branches.
“You!” a rough voice called.
Jessalyn moaned. Fear and panic at capture kicked in her flight instinct. She ran, her daypack filled with her remaining possessions. It thud-thud-thudded uncomfortably against her back with each step.
“Stop. Stop! He’s over there!”
Masculine voices called, alerting others of her progress as she raced through the Domain. Her lungs burned, a stitch growing in her side. Her breaths sawed in her tender throat as she forced her weary body to greater speed.
Instinct—a whisper in her mind—told her to dart right, so she did. She sprinted past a wooden bungalow, one of the old ones built almost two hundred years ago by white settlers. Another bungalow of a similar age but painted a buttermilk cream sat next door. She raced past that one and several other buildings. Gradually, the age changed. Modern buildings. Shops. Offices. She slowed to listen for her pursuers and slowed yet again. She’d lost them. In the shadow of an exotic tree with flower-laden branches, she halted and bent at the waist to suck in air.
This was unsafe. She was dangerous, and it was a miracle she hadn’t killed anyone yet. So far, she’d damaged property. Gerry’s business. Part of the native bush surrounding Piha. Her father’s garden shed.
She had no idea what was wrong with her, but this wasn’t a problem fixable by a normal garden-variety doctor. People didn’t go around willy-nilly spurting flames, setting trees and property alight. With no control over the fire, she never knew when an unfortunate sneeze or her dinner might produce flames. The one constant was her fire-breathing occurred in the evening.
So far, she’d avoided detection, but tonight had been a close thing. Maybe she should go back to Piha…
No! The authorities had already declared the fires the work of an arsonist. She’d made the news headlines. Jessalyn had told Danny she needed to sell the last of her father’s wooden boxes at the Matakana Farmers’ market. While it was true she urgently required money, she’d gone farther south and pedaled the boxes at a market in Onehunga. With no hope of meeting the mortgage payment, she’d sold her father’s SUV. From the proceeds, she’d managed enough cash to pay almost four mortgage payments, and she’d deposited this money into her father’s business account. A cushion to give her a chance to plan. Instead of returning home to Piha, she’d stayed in the city and found a job working in the kitchen of an upmarket pub in The Viaduct.
Things had been going well until she’d breathed fire again. Oh, and the lowlife who broken into her hostel room and taken possession of some of her belongings hadn’t helped.
With her breathing almost normal again, Jessalyn scanned her surroundings for signs of her pursuers. But no shouts intruded into this quiet suburban street in Parnell. She eased from the shadows, straightened her daypack and made her way to the harbor. She’d promised to help with the stock count tonight. It wasn’t as if the hostel was a haven now. It was time to find somewhere safer to live. Hopefully, someone had a copy of today’s newspaper for her to scan, or failing that, she’d visit Auckland library and use their computers to do an online search.
The apartment in Onehunga, close to the train station, was perfect. The two men searching for a fla
tmate were not. One glance at their sly blue eyes and her gut screamed danger. She’d told them she was looking at several places and departed with her skin crawling. Since leaving Piha, she’d learned the world was full of creeps, and she no longer wondered why women came into the pub where she worked in cackling groups. Easier to stay alive if you were part of a herd.
With nothing pressing to do, Jessalyn explored the area. She window-shopped and browsed in a secondhand bookstore, purchasing a cheap thriller and a battered copy of the history of the Onehunga area. She wandered past an old post office, now a trendy café busy with the evening trade, and inhaled. The tang of salt filled her lungs, and following instinct, she redirected her steps to the water.
Although it was almost eight, the passing groups of people and families on the well-lit street didn’t give off threatening vibes. Her stomach released a hungry grumble, and she hesitated. She craved hot and spicy foods, but the spiciness caused extra flames.
A whiff of curry spices floated her way and soon an Indian restaurant came into sight. Her stomach rumbled anew. She held her breath and followed the deep-fat fryer scents of the fish and chip shop next door.
An overweight woman sprawled on a chair near the counter. A large greasy mark stained her apron at chest level, and her scowl told Jessalyn she wasn’t keen on moving from her comfortable spot. She heaved herself upright with a heavy sigh. “What will it be?”
“A hamburger and fries.”
“You want beetroot?”
Black Moon Dragon Page 3
